


How to Save Peter Hale

by SalazarTipton



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Peter Hale, BAMF Stiles, Emissary Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Magical Tattoos, Season One Fix-It, Smoking, Steter Secret Santa 2018, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-24 04:27:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17094038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SalazarTipton/pseuds/SalazarTipton
Summary: Going back in time to save Peter from himself? Sure, why not. Getting Peter to trust him and go along with the plan? Okay, that might take a little more work...





	How to Save Peter Hale

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rightsidethru](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rightsidethru/gifts).



> happy holidays, rightsidethru! hope you like your gift :D

Stiles watches the creep-tastic performance before him with a grimace. He’s not frowning just because Peter’s charm is trying to slither over Allison; he’s frowning because they both look _so young_. Could it really have been that long ago when Peter rampaged the town, turned Scott, and opened up all their little worlds to the immense possibilities? He shakes his head to himself, refusing to say something like, _oh how time flies!_ \--especially considering how he ended up here. When Peter reaches for Allison’s hand, he decides he’s been waiting long enough. 

“Peter!” he chimes from a few racks over. He walks towards the pair with a jaunty step looking way out of place so close to Allison’s terror and Peter’s predatory glare. Stiles smiles wide. “Dude, it’s been too long,” he says, reaching out to hug him. 

The man tries to push him away, but doesn’t expect Stiles’ speed. He traps him in his arms and squeezes. Peter’s a statue of boiling rage against him. If he opens his eyes right now, they’d probably be seething red. Stiles’ smile grows a little more genuine. Bothering the man has become such a rewarding hobby. He’s glad it translates to jumping back in time too. Maybe Peter hasn’t changed all that much…

“Do you have a death wish?” Peter grinds out in a harsh whisper against Stiles’ cheek. 

He pulls back, releasing Peter once he’s sure Allison has slipped away from the weirdos and back to Lydia and him, well current-time Stiles. Oh great, he’s already starting to confuse himself  _ with himself.  _ Lovely. 

“Nah, I’m actually here to stop you from getting yourself killed.” Peter’s grimace adjusts into a line of displeasure, a promising start. Stiles opens his mouth to continue, but stops before any words can come out. Scott’s still too close by. The poor kid’s an idiot, but he might actually be listening in. Stiles’ taps his ear twice and nods to the escalator. They can’t have “the talk” here. 

“After you,” Peter says. His rage has been replaced by cool manners and the underlying current of piqued interest. 

_ Awe _ , Stiles thinks to himself with an internal laugh,  _ he probably thinks he can take me.  _

Stiles walks ahead towards the exit without any show of concern about having a murderous alpha werewolf following at his heels. He can feel Peter’s aura close behind him as he steps onto the steel death stairs (He’s never liked escalators. Think of how easy it would be to step wrong and end up with mince pie feet.  _ No thank you _ .) and checks his watch. They’ve got time to dilly dally. Of course, if Stiles can make his plan work, they’ll have plenty of time for a lot of things. He leads them away from the Macy’s and crowded parking lot, out back of the shopping center to the loading bay of one of the many closed stores. 

Beacon Hills’ economy hasn’t been helped by string of murders happening at night. Why keep later hours when people aren’t willing to be out of their homes so late anymore? The Sears won’t hold their normal hours again for a year or so--until after Matt and his murder-lizard are taken care of. Stiles takes a second to thank his brain for filing away seemingly useless information by the truck load. 

Peter grabs the back of his neck, pressing him against the brick of the building. Rolling his eyes would probably be rude, right? The guy’s just trying to show he has the upper hand in all this and won’t be toyed with. Stiles should just go along with it. He rolls his eyes anyway. With a flick of his wrist, Peter’s fingers go slack and his arm falls to his side. The rumbling growl echos around them in the loading bay, sending a shiver down Stiles’ spine making him think of all the other ways he’s heard that sound.  _ Focus, you horny fuck! _ Thankfully Peter’s too preoccupied trying to figure out what the hell is happening to notice the sexually charged aroma coming off of Stiles in waves. 

“I’m here to fix your shit for you. You’re welcome,” Stiles says with a wink, “so maybe don’t try to shove me into things.”

“Who are you?”

“You seriously can’t tell? I’m Stiles!” He flails his hands, motioning to his face. It’s not like his bone structure has changed  _ that  _ much in the past ten years...future ten years?  _ Ah, whatever.  _

Peter looks him over, taking in the long hair pulled up into a high bun to keep it off of Stiles’ neck in the heat, the shadow of stubble on his chin, the dark tattoos twining and intertwining themselves ever so slightly on his shoulder and arm. He pays special attention to his tattered, red jeans and tank top—clearly not anything the current Stiles would be caught dead in. Okay… Stiles probably shouldn’t have expected anyone to recognize him that fast. He’s changed a bit. 

“Are your tattoos...moving?”

“Of all the things you could ask, you’re going with that?” Stiles sighs, hands on his hips and glances at the heavens. “Yeah, they do that, but that’s so not why I’m here.”

Peter straightens up a little with a small smirk on his lips. “So, why are you here?”  _ This condescending prick _ , Stiles thinks. 

“Your plan sucks and I’m here to fix it. You can’t just go around on a vengeance spree without a plan to survive. I’m sure you know on this little path of yours, the only outcome is death,” Stiles says. He kicks his leg up to lean against the wall. This might take awhile so he might as well be comfortable. 

“Death isn’t the worst of outcomes, you know,” Peter says in his I’m-so-clever-and-cryptic-you-can’t-tell-me-apart-from-Deaton tone. Stiles just rolls his eyes and digs his Marlboro pack out of his back pocket. 

“You should save your resurrection for when your death actually can’t be avoided.” He pauses to tap a cigarette out of the pack and slip it between his lips. It ignites the second he pulls in a breath through it. His fireweed tattoo sways on his bicep as the smoke fills his lungs, the bright petals shimmering as if a strong breeze is passing over the plant, yet the ivy beneath it stays still. “I won’t let you take on a suicide mission, so really your only choice is to hear me out.”

Peter turns his face away from the menthol smoke billowing out of Stiles’ words. “Why?”

“Why what? Why are you gonna die if you go through with this? Why should you save your little banshee trick? There are a lotta ways for me to answer that,” Stiles rambles, tapping off the ash from the tip of his cigarette. 

“Why would you care if I die?” he asks, stepping closer to Stiles. “Shouldn’t you want me dead after I turned your best friend and threatened the people you both care about?” Peter closes the gap between them with each word until he’s close enough to feel the heat coming off of the fireweed outline as it sways against the movement of Stiles’ muscles. 

“Do you want me to give the full rundown of the future or you want the simple answer?” Stiles asks back with a smile, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth. His eyes flick down to Peter’s own mouth without thinking. 

He watches the pieces click into place in Peter’s mind behind those ocean blue eyes. Peter cocks his head to the side, eyebrow raised in full Hale-mode. 

“Simple answer, for now. I’d love to hear the whole story when we have the time and are a little less exposed,” Peter says, reluctantly pulling his eyes away from the look of hunger in Stiles’ to scan the empty asphalt. 

Stiles sucks in another drag to ground himself. Back in his time, there’s nothing to go back to--nothing worth living for. The here and now is full of potential and promise. He hadn’t thought it would turn so serious, so personal so soon. He should have known better. Peter’s always found all the buttons on Stiles faster than he knew he wanted them pushed. 

He blows out the smoke away from Peter’s face and holds the cigarette aloft between his middle and fore fingers before lifting up the hem of his shirt. Peter leans away from him just enough to see what Stiles’ is trying to show him, but those few inches feel like a mile. 

He hesitates. 

There’s no guarantee. Not that their ever has been in the craziness of this town, but this isn’t  _ his Peter _ . This is fresh out of a coma, ready for vengeance and death Peter. This guy could just as easily lean in to kiss him as try to rip his throat out. Well, that’s a bad example because when isn’t Peter like that? Stiles sighs at himself. He can’t rush this. 

The fabric falls back down around Stiles’ waist. He smirks at Peter’s eyes tightening into a glare. 

“If you go after revenge how you have been, everyone dies. I’m not talking now or in the next year. The upcoming events in your hands will lead to destruction and devastation on scales you’ve never even had nightmares about,” Stiles says. He lifts his cigarette back to his mouth and breathes in more smoke. “You go along with my plans starting right this second either willingly or forcefully. I assume you have preference.”

Peter’s eyebrow shoot up, his glare changing in a flash from annoyed to intrigued, with a hint of skepticism. Stiles kicks off the wall while staring him down with a smug smile. 

“You still haven’t told me your plan,” Peter points out, leaning back on his heels to give himself space from the smoke. 

“It’s a simple one. Build a pack together, make the Argents responsible pay, and take no shit.”

He crosses his arms with a huff. “Why would I want you in my pack, Stiles? And better yet, why would you want to be part of it?”

Stiles flicks his cigarette off the to the side and snaps his fingers. It fizzles out with a pop leaving nothing aside from a cloud of smoke in its place. The fireweed stills on his arms. “Every pack needs an Emissary, Peter. Why not start there?”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading! please let me know what you think in the comments. i live to talk about this stuffffff <3
> 
> you can also find me over on [tumblr](http://bialiencowboy.tumblr.com/) and [pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.io/devildad)


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